Freeze Frame
by bahagsihari
Summary: Series of oneshots dealing with the pasts of several adults in the Secret Series, including but not limited to Ms. Mauvais, the Bergamo Brothers, Lily, and Owen.
1. Antoinette Mauvais

Antoinette Mauvais was ten, and she had a very good life.

Mama and Papa were always away, but that was okay. She had the mansion and the servants all to herself, when they were away. She had dollhouses and tea sets and much more to play with, but what she liked to play with most was Jacques, her stallion; she would ride him on the farms that her father owned, and she would pretend that she was a queen, surveying her kingdom.

Whenever Mama and Papa were home, they would always bring back such delightful oddities; large glass pipes with tubes from Araby, silk robes and crystal dragons from the Orient, and headdresses from the Americas. They were very seasoned travellers, though they were both doctors, and when she asked why they were always away, they said they were on a quest. For what, they did not say, and she had to content herself.

Mama and Papa were great lovers of the arts, and Antoinette was no exception. She especially liked to sculpt, and she was very good at it, everyone said. She had started out with clay, when she was young, but lately she had begun sculpting marble. She liked sculpting because, well, because she liked to make people. Perfect people, people with no flaws at all. Every detail in a sculpture had to be quite perfect, and if it wasn't, the whole thing would crumble.

One day, while she was out on the farm riding Jacques, a servant rushed to her, saying that she was wanted in the house. She had visitors.

When she went into the drawing room, there was an old man in a tuxedo with long hair that was tied back; Antoinette, who had seen many people from different lands before, thought the man looked Swiss. He was sitting on Papa's chair, reading a book. Beside him stood a younger (but still old), darker man who wore a similar tuxedo, only white.

They both wore white gloves, though the girl did not find this very unusual. They were simply nobles like herself, she reasoned, but she did find it odd that the dark man wore them as well. If not for the manner of his clothing, she would have mistook him for the other man's servant.

The man who was reading looked up, and looked at her blankly. He stood up, with the help of a cane, bowed slightly, and the other man did the same.

"Good day, Mademoiselle. I am Lord Pharaoh," the man with the long hair said. He gestured to his companion. "This is Itamar." Itamar nodded his head in recognition.

The man Lord Pharaoh looked around the room with contempt. "I am the leader of a very large group of followers, and I- I have come here personally to tell you that your parents are no more," he explained with a sort of flatness.

Antoinette looked at him, wide-eyed, though she did not feel any remorse. Lord Pharaoh eyed her curiously, and added, "I am sure they have not died in vain, however. They were very good colleagues of mine, though their lives short."

Itamar took a step forward. She could see that he was holding a wooden box with brass hinges in his arms. "Your father wanted you to have this," Itamar said, talking in clipped, basic French.

The girl heaved the box from Itamar's skinny arms, and with great effort, opened it. Inside the box, there were very many, very curious looking vials, all of them filled with some kind of power, liquid, or something else. One of them had a single, tiny flower wedged inside.

"Your parents were, by profession, doctors," Lord Pharaoh said, in a manner of explanation, "but they were spiritualists at heart. After they had you, well, they heard about my following, and they joined me on a journey. A journey of life."

The words could have been wistful, but there was little sentiment in the way he said this.

"We have watched you for a long time, Mademoiselle. We believe you can be of great use to us."

Months later, Antoinette was standing over the dead horse, its leg sticking out sorely. She clutched the knife so hard her knuckles were white, though you would not have noticed, because her hands were gloved.

Itamar put a hand on her shoulder and led her to a carriage that had been waiting for them, and they rode off in search for a never-setting sun.


	2. Pietro Bergamo

Pietro sat in the parlor, drink in hand, trying to ignore the din of voices that wafted from the nightclub. Everyone knew well of the law of Prohibition; yet nobody seemed to be giving up the giggle water anytime soon.

He had just performed that night, on the small stage of the club, entertaining the tipsy customers with disappearing and reappearing watches, a paper cone that made scarves materialize out of thin air, that sort of thing. He would have mingled with the customers afterwards, rousing them with some card tricks and perhaps making them cough up more of the dough; but he wouldn't, simply because he did not want to interact with people. At least, people who were not his brother.

Luciano had been missing for seven years now. Pietro frequently wondered if he could be dead, but as soon as he thought it he would push it out of his mind. Besides, he could feel his brother was still out there, through some kind of sixth sense.

Pietro was, in essence, the older brother; however, Luciano had grown taller and his shoulders became broader, while Pietro remained skinny and small, a mere wisp. He didn't mind too much, however, as he did not like to be noticed anymore than Luciano did want to be noticed.

The neighbors never called them twins; more like brothers who were a year or two apart.

When they were children, he remembered, they would perform in the circus in Kansas. After they performed, they would stick around the sideshow tents, cheating the poor rubes out of their extra pocket money.

After they did that, they would sit on top of the ringmaster's caravan, eating cotton candy or caramel apples or popcorn, and they would just talk until the sun came up.

He particularly remembered an old conversation, one of their last, before Luciano disappeared;

_"Pietro," his brother had said, "do you ever think about death?"_

_He was a bit shocked at the topic. "Well, yes. Sometimes."_

_Luciano had his hand half sunken into his popcorn, and he was looking at the Big Top, deep in thought._

_"I find it very frightful, you know? You could be here one day, and then poof-! Gone. Like the wind."_

_Pietro tried to chuckle. "Brother, you think about these things too much. We- we are still young, my brother! I do not see why you are in such a big hurry," he joked. "Death might not be expecting you for a very long time."_

_Luciano looked grave. "You may say so, brother, for you laugh at life in the face as if it were a great joke," he had said. "But I wish you would be more serious sometimes, Pietro. Death is not something one can joke about."_

_"And I wish you would lighten up," he had told him, poking him gently in the rib. "Not everything has to be so- depressing. Death, Luciano, is only a part of life, so I do not understand why one would be afraid of it."_

_His brother looked at him coldly. "Well, I don't want to just... disappear. I don't know what would happen to me if I died. I would rather live forever."_

_He shrugged. "Would you really want to live forever, my brother? Imagine how you would look! Like a prune, I would imagine."_

_Luciano shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth, and it ended there._

Pietro looked up at the sky, wistful.

Only a few stars were in sight, as he was in the city, but he could see the moon; clear and bright before his eyes. He imagined all the multitudes of stars out there he couldn't see, and whether they had any clue as to where his brother- his dear brother, the most important thing the world had ever given him- was.

He eyed the crescent moon with a kind of longing, and, at the same time, with happiness. He would find Luciano- his other half- no matter how many years it took him. He would find him no matter how many nightclubs he had to perform in, no matter how many wars were fought over the years, he would find him.

He raised the drink he was holding, and smiled.


	3. Lily Wei

The cell felt like nothing, and she hated it.

She wasn't supposed to have any stimulation, they said, so they kept her in the cold, stark white room. It was boring, being asleep all day. And when she woke up, there was always the same white liquid in the same glass beside her, tempting her to drink it.

She would rather starve to death than be in that cell any longer.

Lily had counted. It was her sixth month in the stupid cell.

She didn't know what it was that kept her alive. She was surprised that she hadn't killed herself yet, though it may have had something to do with there being virtually nothing in the room with which to kill herself, aside from the metal table that served as her bed. Then again, she wasn't very keen to the idea of bashing her head in with the table. She would rather refuse the milk-like substance they gave her on occasion.

She heard only the sounds of her own breathing and her tummy rumbling, but over time she had noticed that she was imagining sounds in the back of her mind, and she could see the colors of the imaginary music, if she sat around and didn't try to focus on anything. She was slowly going insane, and she knew it.

She was on the verge of crying. She didn't know what to do; what she felt was a combination of fear, anger, and confusion. Why did these people take her away? Who was that lady she had seen before she was kidnapped? What were they going to do with her? Was she ever going to see her family again?

She stood up from the table, and heard something. A real noise. There was the sound of her leaving the table, yes, but another sound she couldn't place. It was like... liquid in a glass. She turned around. Yes. There was a tall glass of the white stuff on her bed. They must have put it there while she slept, she reasoned.

Not quite knowing why, she picked it up and threw it across the room. It crashed on the wall with a loud noise, and her head felt clearer. Shards of glass went flying through the large, mainly empty space.

Lily stood there, reflecting on what just happened. She... broke the glass. And it made a noise. And she felt better.

She turned to the table and picked it up. It was fairly heavy, given that it was metal and that she'd been starving herself, but she managed. A sense of empowerment washed over her, and she threw it as far as she could.

The table fell only a few feet away this time, but it made the most satisfying noise Lily had heard in quite a long time. She was suddenly aware of how much her fingers hurt, but it was well worth it, she thought.

Without warning, a door opened, but she couldn't see where. People in stark, white uniforms came up to her and grabbed her by the arms, leading her away. She kicked, thrashed, and screamed, but the guards were stronger than her. It was when they were out of the room and in a hallway that Lily realized that they were _taking her out of the room_, which she had technically wanted.

She did not, however, want to be thrown in another room exactly like the one she was just in, metal table and all. This time they strapped her to the table for good measure.

Screaming and thrashing (or attempting to), she tried to fight her way through the restraints, but it was no use. Something was shot in her arm and she became dizzy.

She gave up and went back to sleep, telling herself not to cry.


	4. William Wilton Wallace the Third

William Wilton Wallace the Third, twelve years old, seated in the backseat of his grandfather's car, didn't know what to think.

She was a small kid, and looked to be about his age. She was currently asleep in Master Yang's lap. Master Yang, to Wallace, looked like a Chinese Santa Claus, though he wasn't that fat. He did, however, had a big gut, a scruffy beard, and long, white hair in a ponytail.

To Wallace's right side was the man who had come to them, Mr. Bergamo. He looked to be around his father's age, he thought. He was a small man who had a salt-and-pepper moustache and curly, greying hair.

His father was driving the scrappy VW bug, and his grandfather (who was, at the moment, lighting a fat cigar) was in the passenger's seat. His father was a thin, tall man, who always looked like he was on extremely important business. His grandfather might've looked like that, once, but he grew smaller and his back became increasingly hunched, so he just looked like a grouchy old man.

The trip from the Midnight Sun's fortress was spent in silence.

Wallace rubbed his hands on his trousers, though that didn't do any good, as his trousers were just as dirty as his hands; he had to climb through a duct to get to the girl while the others were fending off Midnight Sun guardsmen. He disliked being so dirty. They made it look so easy, in the movies, but it was cramped and dusty and he barely got out with the girl in tow. He was beginning to dislike this secret society business.

He craned his neck to look at the window to his left, and he couldn't help but notice that Master Yang had fallen asleep. He looked peaceful and absolutely bloody and bruised. His father would have a fit later about cleaning the seats.

The sun was coming up. Not the Midnight Sun, Wallace reminded himself, but the real sun. He also knew that the sun was, in fact, a star. He read it from a book. He had loads of books, and his father let him keep them all in his own library. He and his father and grandfather lived in a small house, just outside of town, near a convenience store. They also had an RV in case they had to travel. Wallace was top in his class, and he had no friends.

It was a while before they stopped at a fairly new roadside gas station, and the sun was peeking out from the mountain.

His grandfather grunted, opened his door, and got out. "Ug. Where are we, Junior?"

His father looked at a map and folded it. "Somewhere where they can't catch up with us, I hope." He got out as well. "Wake up, everyone. Time for breakfast."

Mr. Bergamo, evidently a light sleeper, woke up and _yaaaaaaaaawn_ed. He stretched as wide as the cramped space would allow him to, and sleepily blinked his eyes. "Oh! We are stopping already?" Muttering something, he crawled out. Wallace followed after him. Master Yang got out afterward, carrying the girl in his big, beefy arms.

It was a small gas station. There was a breakfast place there, where they ambled down to get something to eat.

As the waitress lady took their orders (his father wanted coffee with sugar and cream, sunny-side eggs, and bacon; his grandfather wanted black coffee and a ham and cheese omelette; Mr. Bergamo insisted on some sausages; Master Yang ordered two servings of oatmeal and Wallace wanted two slices of toast with grape jelly and hot chocolate, his favorite breakfast), Wallace saw that the girl was waking up.

When the waitress left, the girl woke up, and looked afraid. She looked at Wallace, then looked around the table, then looked up at Master Yang. She looked like she was about to cry, scream, or both.

Mr. Bergamo leaned forward on his chair. "_Cara_, what is wrong?"

His father held up a hand to stop him from leaning too close. "Stop, Pietro. You'll frighten the poor child. Held captive for six months... Give her some time."

Apparently, time was the last thing on her mind. She screamed loudly, kicked her way out of Master Yang's arms, and was almost out the door when everyone, including Wallace, was moving to go after her, but Master Yang had jumped over the divider and was after her in an instant. He was shouting something, and was gone.

The remaining four of them stood there awkwardly, still poised to run out the door, when Wallace's grandfather said,

"They'll be back."

He sat down in his place. After a while, everyone else was sitting down, too.


	5. Lily Wei, pt 2

"Look at me."

She looked at the man, her eyes puffy from crying. She wiped the snot from her nose. She was hungry and cold and quite frankly, very scared. She stood in the forest near the gas station she were just at, and she didn't know why she ran, she thought that the men were bad men and she didn't even know where she was running to, maybe a place where they don't make people insane and feed them milk every single day.

The man with the long hair and beard reminded her of her father, though they didn't look that much alike, she thought. Her father was tall and had slick hair and a stern face, and this man was shorter and rounder and has long hair and big arms. But this man and her father had the same eyes.

"Okay. Good." The man was speaking in Chinese, and he had a nice, low voice. Pale, navy blue, like her father's. "Why did you run away, Lily?"

"I thought you were bad," she said, carefully. She didn't bother asking how he knew her name. "I thought you were going to capture me, like what the lady did to me."

The man looked pained. "We're not going to hurt you. We came to save you." He extended his big, rough hand. "Will you come with me?"

Lily hesitated, wondering if she could trust the man, but something about the man's eyes and voice and how he reminded her of her father made her feel safe, even if he was all bruised and bloody.

"Okay."

He took her by the hand and led her back to the gas station and into the restaurant, where she could see an old man looking at a map and smoking a cigar, grumbling, two men looking at the old man, one of them looking very worried, and a tall, thin, pinched looking boy with glasses looking at her. Not knowing what to do, she waved.

He looked at her very curiously.

They sat down, past a small man with curly hair and a bushy mustache, just across from the tall boy. She could smell bacon and eggs being fried.

After sitting down, she turned to the boy, who sniffed at her. He looked pretty dirty.

"What's your name?" she asked, wanting to make friends with him.

He looked her up and down, perhaps checking that she wasn't going to run again, and decided that it would be safe. "I'm Wallace," he said, with a snooty sounding, mustard yellow tone. "You're Lily, right?"

Lily nodded uncertainly.

Wallace steepled his fingers and rested his head on them. "My whole name's William Wilton Wallace, the Third. That means my father and my grandfather are also William Wilton Wallace," he nodded his head in the direction of the man in the suit and the old man, "But my grandfather's the first, and he calls my father Junior. People just call me Wallace, or Wally, but Mr. Bergamo over there calls me Wilton, though that's wrong, because Wilton is my _father,_ not me. My grandfather's William, in case you were wondering."

He said all of that like it was a very big deal, Lily couldn't help but notice.

"Okay," Lily began, "But I'm just Lily."

Wallace sniffed again. Lily was getting quite tired of that.

A waitress appeared, and laid out all the food she had on the table. Lily poked at her oatmeal and her glass of milk. When she tasted the milk, it was real, actual milk, and she was so relieved that she gulped it all down at once. Wallace gave her a look and she made a face at him.

She ate her oatmeal greedily, happy that she could eat real food again, even if she didn't really like oatmeal.

When they were done eating and the course was mapped, Lily didn't run away again.


End file.
